


That Time Steve worked too hard & Bucky brought Chinese food

by heizl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Conversations, Established Relationship, M/M, Modern Era, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Series, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16035236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: With Steve being in the home stretch of finals, practically tasting the freedom of finally being out of school, he found himself more often than not slaving over projects and trapped inside the studio he sometimes rented out for larger projects.Bucky, only being in Brooklyn for three more days, wants to spend the night with his boyfriend. So, he comes up with the idea of surprising Steve with food from their favorite Chinese restaurant.





	That Time Steve worked too hard & Bucky brought Chinese food

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky leaned his head against the vibrating pane of the subway's scuffed window, shin crossed over a knee with his hands folded on his lap, worn backpack to his side. He was thumbing through a playlist Steve'd made him almost two weeks ago for his road trip, titled ' _Mix tapes are still romantic, right_ '. He'd filled it with some of their favorite songs, ranging from romantic serenades to local hipster bands they'd caught live.

 

His lips curved the further he scrolled, each song sappier and more nostalgic than the last. Almost choking on his own spit, he felt his brows lower as his nose scrunched in judgement, squinting. "For Christ's sake," he mumbled to himself under a quiet, aghast breath, trying not to draw anymore attention to himself by bursting out into laughter, like he really wanted to. "Always with the damn One Direction. Fuckin' Steve."

 

Tapping twice, he settled on something at random, something not from that pop band Steve (not so) secretly adored, shoving his headphones into an ear each. He settled the phone on his thigh, the screen growing dim as his eyes flickered shut, the light melodic drumming of "John My Beloved" floating through his senses. Though he'd never heard the tune, he hummed along to the beat, his foot shaking along.

 

He felt his chest puff as he exhaled a drawn out sigh, of both pure exhaustion and contentedness, dry lips parting. He was only in Brooklyn for three more days and already dreading the trip back to Indiana — didn't matter if that'd become a monthly tradition at this point, he still _hated_  the drive home, always filled with a piercing loneliness from leaving Steve and a tinge of guilt for not moving back to New York already. He wasn't ready though; Beck and his mom still needed him back home, and things were just starting to look up for him at the boxing ring. Plus, with Steve trying to finish up school, it never felt like the right timing.

 

But, regardless of any of the reasons Bucky tried to give him time and time again, Steve practically begged him every time he saw him, always telling him _why_  he should move back, like he needed to be convinced any further. He'd always pull his famous 'puppy dog eye' look, hoping that one day he'd fall for it and just give in, but he still hadn't, much to his own surprise. He wasn't a fan of the whole long distance thing, but he'd rather take twelve hours of driving over not seeing Steve entirely.

 

" _We could go hang out in Prospect Park every day_ ," Steve would reason, his eyes rolling at his own words, "well, _maybe not every day. Couple times a week at least for lunch. Buck, it could be like old times. Remember when we'd always go there as a kids, playing hide and go seek_?"

 

Bucky snickered. " _Yeah. You sucked at that one, big time_ ," he shook his head. " _Sounds great though, buddy, really. It does_."

 

" _Oh, and, we could, uh..._ " he clapped his hands together, " _You know, there's a science museum around here I think you'd like_."

 

" _Lemme guess_ ," Bucky scratched the stubble of his chin, acting surprised, " _The 'Hall of Science_ '?"

 

" _Yeah! That one exactly. How'd you know?_ "

 

" _'Cause, moron_ ," Bucky knocked on Steve's head, " _use to live here, remember? Wasn't_ that  _long ago_."

 

" _Oh, right_ ," Steve's face had blotched several shades of embarrassing pink. " _It just feels like forever, Buck. I really miss you."_

 

Bucky stroked his shoulder. " _I miss you too, punk. Really,_ really _do._ "

 

Bucky felt his stomach rumble, awkwardly shifting in his seated position, hunched over himself. He peered down again at his screen, flicking it on, typing in his pass code. Every time his lock screen popped up, he always found himself staring at it a second too long, through the cracked glass. Always found his heart beating a skip too fast as he admired Steve's dopey grin, his body leaned against Bucky's side, hands grasped to the sleeve of an old denim jacket he never got rid of and bright baby blues sparkling against the sunset. He really did love that kid, didn't know what he'd do without him. He'd be lost in life, that he knew for sure.

 

He pressed the messaging app open, his conversation with Steve filling the screen.

 

 **Me** \- 05:41 PM

Chinese tonight?

 

 **Stevie** \- 05:43 PM

Sounds good, Buck. :- )

 

He'd reread their last messages from over an hour ago twice before taking his phone into both his hands, biting the skin of his lower lip. Steve had been stuck in the studio most of the day, frantically trying to get the painting aspect done for his final that was due tomorrow. He'd been up until four that morning typing away at a ten thousand word essay on something about technology and it's negative effects on art— Bucky wasn't really sure what that all meant, hardly comprehending Steve when he used him as a soundboard for ideas. Steve nearly tore his hair out in frustration when Bucky nodded along to his words with no response. Hell if he didn't _pretend_  like he did, though.

 

Steve had pulled him out of bed around two thirty, jumping on him with tears in his eyes, having gotten to the point where he'd officially fried his brain and couldn't be trusted alone anymore. It was like that episode of _Spongebob Squarepants_ , Bucky thought; all he knew anymore was fine dining and breathing, except replace 'dining' with 'art' and 'breathing' with 'not sleeping'. Plus, he swore he saw some smoke coming out of Steve's ears.

 

Being the _amazing_  and _g_ _enerous_ boyfriend he is, Bucky still pulled himself out from under the comfortable warm sheets and made Steve cup after cup of coffee instead, keeping himself awake with his preferred poison; a Monster, or two.

 

He knew Steve like the back of his hand, knew he wasn't the kind of person to stop a project until it was done, and done _perfect_ , at least to Steve's definition of perfect, which was practically synonymous with 'it's never good enough, so let's start over from scratch a hundred and one times until I cry'. And, being the  _fantastic_  and _awesome_ boyfriend he is — he laughed at his own joke, loudly, an elderly women staring at him until he glanced down at the dirty floor — he figured, why not surprise Steve with food hand delivered from their favorite place in town.

 

 **Me** \- 07:00 PM  
Hey Stevie

 

 **Stevie** \- 07:05 PM  
Hey sweetheart. :-)

 

 **Me** \- 07:06 PM  
Still painting away?

 

A photo slowly downloaded, showcasing a black and white realistic rendition of Brooklyn's nighttime skyline, the canvas, almost matching Steve in height, leaning against a wall.

 

 **Stevie** \- 07:11 PM  
Yeah. She's still got a few hours left.

 

Bucky zoomed into the picture, his mouth agape, gawking at the immense detailing.

 

 **Me** \- 07:12 PM  
Jesus, Steve. That's incredible.

 

 **Stevie** \- 07:12 PM  
Thanks Buck. Hey, I might not be home til late again. So, just go ahead and eat without me, ok? :-(

 

Bucky laughed through his nostrils, peering at the opening doors of the train. Looping an elbow through his backpack's straps, he stumbled into the subway station, pushing his way past the rush of New Yorkers eagerly trying to head home from work, filing up the stairs like mindless zombies. With a single hand, he typed back to Steve, yanking his jacket's hood over his short hair, stepping into the steadily dropping cold air of the night.

 

 **Me** \- 07:16 PM  
How's delivery sound?

 

 **Stevie** \- 07:17 PM  
Delivery...

 

 **Stevie** \- 07:17 PM  
Is it gonna be delivered by a hot guy, I hope? ;-))

 

Bucky pulled a bud out of his ear as he pushed open the jingling door to Lucky Kitchen with an elbow, looking back at his screen.

 

 **Me** \- 07:19 PM  
Oh definitely

 

 **Stevie** \- 07:20 PM  
Sounds great then, Buck

 

Bucky pulled a can of Cherry Coke out of the buzzing drink refrigerator, phone vibrating in his palm. He glanced down quickly, biting back his grin.

 

 **Stevie** \- 07:22 PM  
<3

 

* * *

 

 

Cradling an overflowing, and scorchingly hot, plastic bag in his arms, Bucky traveled down the long halls of the industrial loft building Steve rented from sometimes; it was owned by the school, specifically for NYU students and artists of all medias, but that meant Steve could only afford it when times were dire and he had no other choice. Steve always whined when the day was up and he again had to make do with painting at home, always going on the same tangent how someday, he'll have enough to afford a studio of his own, which _always_  brought a smile to Bucky's face because there wasn't an ounce of him that doubted Steve.

 

Bucky knew he was getting closer to the right door as the distinctive tune of Elvis' "Love Me Tender" droned through the wooden door; Steve wasn't much of an Elvis fan originally, but after Bucky loaned him a handful of vinyls from his personal collection, that was all Steve found himself listening to anymore when he worked, not that Bucky minded.  _But,_ he'd still never give in and listen to One Direction, no matter how much Steve pleaded. Wasn't gonna happen. 

 

Licking loose droplets of soy sauce from his knuckles, he gave a heavy knock, announcing, "Got a boring ass order for a one 'Steve Rogers'. He here by any chance?"

 

With loud footsteps, the door flew open. Steve gave Bucky a long head to toe glare. "Thought the hotter guy was coming, sorry," Steve said with a smirk, his nose crinkling the dried paint that was faintly brushed across it.

 

"It's a real let down, huh," Bucky kissed his warm forehead, fingers trailing through his already unkempt hair. "Hi Stevie."

 

"Hi Buck," he beamed, wearing that goofy smile Bucky adored. Stepping past him, he peered around for an empty spot to set down the bag, double taking the mess that was his work space. The wall hanging table was crammed full of discolored solo cups, all half full with muddled water, clean brushes lain beside them on a streaky grey paper towel.

 

His eyebrows raising, he decided to sit in the corner of the studio, dropping his backpack down. He leaned against brick as he settled on a cushion, legs crossed. He sat the crinkling plastic in front of himself, removing the stack of Styrofoam boxes, lining them up in a row. "Busy day?"

 

" _God_ ," Steve groaned, closing the door with a click. "Don't think busy, or any word for that matter, really describes it. I'm so happy to see you Bucky, I feel like I'm gonna throw up from the stress."

 

Bucky pat the pillow beside him. "When'd you last take a break?"

 

"Uh," Steve scratched the back of his head, reaching to pull the record from the turntable, jumping from Bucky's loud, warning noise. He pointed at him, eyes narrowed. " _Lift_  the needle, Steve. Swear to Christ, you ruin another one of my records..."

 

Raising his hands in defeat, Steve did as he was instructed, crouching to pull the plug from the outlet. He fell down next to Bucky with a sigh, eyes instinctively closing. He leaned into his side, Bucky's arm snaking around his shoulders.

 

"You okay?" he said with a throaty chuckle.

 

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just, to answer your question," he leaned forward, plucking the smallest container from the lineup of Chinese food, peeling back its flaps with a groan. "Right now is the last break I've had."

 

He met his eyes, right as Steve started laughing, shifting closer to Bucky. "Gonna burn yourself out if you keep doin' that, Steve. Goin' all day without eating or, breathing."

 

Steve sucked in his lips, snorting. "Not like I can even breathe to begin with."

 

Bucky pressed his hand against Steve's cheek, pushing him. " _God_ , shut up."

 

"No," Steve said through a mouthful of rice, "you love me."

 

Bucky felt himself smile, felt his smile grow wider as Steve nodded, wiggling his brows.

 

"See, told you so."

 

Rolling his eyes, he picked up his own order, feeling himself drool as he stared at the sesame beef that was piled over fried rice, his stomach growling louder this time. "Haven't really had much today either, if we're bein' honest."

 

"Why not?" Steve asked with a tilt of his head, Bucky awkwardly swiveling around to hand Steve a Cherry Coke, wiping the perspiration on his jeans. Grabbing his own, he tapped it against Steve's.

 

"Cheers," he mumbled into the can. With a half shrug, he twirled the drink in his fingers, setting it behind him on the windowsill. "Was out all day doing stuff. Just forgot."

 

"Oh yeah," Steve took another bite. "You were supposed to get together with Sam today, huh?"

 

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, and I did. Met him for coffee earlier," he turned to Steve. "Can see why you like him."

 

"Aw, Bucky made a new friend," Steve reached to pinch his cheek, Bucky swatting him away.

 

"Alright, alright. Wouldn't go _that_  far."

 

"Buuuck," Steve put a hand on his thigh. "You're not still jealous of him, are you?"

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, looking towards the canvas Steve had been working on for days on end. He scanned the painting, admiring every brush stroke that shun in the light, every speckled star in the sky, the accuracy of the Brooklyn bridge in all its glory; he didn't get what Steve still wanted to add, the piece looking damn near complete to him, but he knew Steve was way too critical of himself, always had been. Looking back, he puffed out his cheeks. "He's a cool guy. You know he's big into pulps? Also said _Alien_ was his favorite movie in high school."

 

"Ah, great," Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly checking something before laughing. "Is that how it's gonna go now?" he shifted his weight onto an arm as he spread across Bucky's lap, peering up at him. "Come to see me and I get one hug and a kiss before you and Sam leave for your nerd dates?"

 

He stroked down Steve's jawline, thumb brushing his sharp cheek bones. "Why, Steve? You _jealous_?"

 

"As long as I get you for regular dates," he bent his elbow, blindly swinging around to grab his hand, "I'll be fine."

 

"Say, Steve," he interlocked their fingers, "define a regular date from a nerd date. Pretty sure half of our dates fall into that second category pretty damn well."

 

"Going to the Met ain't a nerd date, Buck. It's educational, good for your brain," he said matter-of-factly.

 

"That's..." Bucky exhaled slowly through his nostrils, massaging his temples with his free hand, "that's the exact definition of a nerd date, Steve, c'mon. Thought you were mister college."

 

"Mister college," Steve repeated, scoffing. "I 'unno, I guess it could be. Maybe you're right."

 

"Gee, you think? I'm _always_  right," he said, without missing a beat.

 

"Whatever," Steve shook his head, forcing himself to sit up with a wince, kissing Bucky softly. "Probably should get back to work, huh."

 

"I dunno, Stevie," he wrapped both arms around his torso, pulling him back into his hold, resting his chin on his shoulder. "Think it looks pretty damn perfect to me," he said hushed, stare locked on the lights that decorated the bridge; did he imagine that, or were they really twinkling? 

 

"Yeah, well," Steve sighed, relaxing his back against his chest, "still pretty messy in some spots. Also gotta do a bit more shading in the water, add a few more clouds," he craned his neck. "You don't mind staying a few more hours, do you?"

 

Bucky's brows raised, but still with a smile kept on his face, he kissed behind his ear, nodding. "As long as you need, bud."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was the second day in a row that Bucky found himself shaken awake by Steve, again at two thirty in the morning. Truly no better time to be awake, Bucky had thought sarcastically. Catching his breath with a startled deep inhale, his head fell back, banging against the window frame. Groaning low, he finger-combed through the curls of his hair, licking his lips before smacking them. He had one groggy eye squinted open. It took a long minute before Steve came into focus, his sleep deprived face staring back at Bucky's, knitted scarf wrapped around his neck and taupe jacket folded over his shoulder.

 

"Buck," he poked his ribs, "Bucky, I need your opinion." He snickered softly, "You were snorin' pretty hard."

 

"Was I?" he asked, still only half-awake. Pulling Steve back down to the floor with him, his knees knocking harsh against the hard floor, he answered his unasked question, "Yes, Steve, we should sleep."

 

 

"No," Bucky traced his fingers down Steve's spine, resting at the loose waistband of his jeans. Steve squirmed out of his hold, yanking on Bucky's sleeve as he hopped back to his feet. "Come on, please. I _wanna_  go home and sleep, but, I just..."

 

"You just what?" Bucky yawned, reluctantly hoisting himself from the far too comfortable cushion, creaking his way over to stand before the painting. With his arms crossed and eyes still flickering, Steve turned to looked at him expectantly, nervously twiddling his fingers.

 

"I 'unno. You really think it's okay?" Steve's face scrunched uncharacteristically, hand clutched over his left pec. 

 

"It's more than okay, Steve." Bucky pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, leveling with Steve. He watched him with concern, brushing over the back of his palm. " _You_ okay?"

 

"Yeah, my chest just," his long, blond lashes fluttered against his freckle covered cheeks, brow drawing down low in pain. "Feels like it's burning. I'm fine."

 

Bucky bundled Steve into his arms, stroking the length of his biceps, kissing the top of his head. "That's from overworking yourself, you know."

 

Steve sighed against his chest, muffled. "I know that. What am I supposed to do about it, though? Not like I  _want_ to stop working this way."

 

"'Least you can do is eat. You drink enough water?"

 

Steve pushed his head further against Bucky. "Yes,  _dad._ "

 

"I'm not tryna coddle you, Steve," he cupped the back of his neck, "but I worry about you. You're so goddamn stupid, hell knows what you'll do next. Probably would drown in the bathtub if I wasn't right there with you."

 

He could feel Steve's body shake under him, his giggles nothing but pure music to his ears. "Not even gonna disagree with you on that one," his voice grew timid as he continued, "You really think it looks fine?"

 

Bucky spun him around, gripping him at the waist. "Tell me, what do you think's wrong with it? What would you change about it, if you could?"

 

Steve shook his head, the room gone uncomfortably silent before he cleared his throat, shrugging. "All of it, probably. Think I should've picked something other than the Brooklyn bridge."

 

With a huff, Bucky playfully whacked the back of Steve's head.

 

"Ow, Christ, Buck!"

 

"You really are gonna drive yourself into a grave if you don't cut yourself a little slack, you get that?"

 

Steve brushed over his hair, fingers resting where Bucky had hit him. "I know, I know. Just wanna make sure I'm really showing off my best work, y'know. Don't wanna present something I just half assed. That really is my biggest fear— worked so hard to get here, don't wanna suddenly blow it cause it's not 'perfect'."

 

Bucky caressed the side of Steve's cheek. "Did you? Half ass it, I mean."

 

"No," Steve side stepped out of Bucky's hold, moving to trace his fingers along the edge of the canvas, the heavy fabric hissing under his touch. "Really did work hard on this, probably harder than any of the other projects I've turned in this year."

 

"Then, Steve," Bucky was again standing behind Steve. He grabbed Steve by his slender, bony shoulders, rotating him so their faces met. He gave him a light shake, back and forth, biting back a smile. "What's the problem?"

 

"I'm... not sure," his eyes crinkled as he grinned, leaning against Bucky as he let out an exhausted chuckle, "Maybe there really isn't one."

 

"Exactly, idiot," Bucky flicked his forehead. "Told you I'm always right. You gonna start listening to me anytime soon?"

 

"Probably not."

 

"Yeah, 'course not," Bucky kissed his nose, watching as Steve's face wrinkled in response. "By the way, really like the new look. Always thought paint brought out the blue of your eyes real good."

 

Steve's face instantaneously flushed, his expression falling flat. He scratched the bridge of his nose, nail scrubbing against his skin. "Got paint on my face, huh."

 

"Mhm."

 

"A lot?"

 

"Mhmmm," Bucky hummed, rubbing a steak of silver that trailed across his neck.

 

Steve looked away briefly before letting his head fall back. "God, Bucky," he gripped over the open zipper on Bucky's hoodie, stroking the fabric, "thanks for putting up with me still, after all these years. Been what? Nineteen, now or something?"

 

"Or something," he nodded, "Think so, pal." Steve's arms snaked around his neck. He let his knees buckle, slouching to meet Steve's gaze. "You know I wouldn't have it any other way."

 

"Me either."

 

Bucky broke the space between them. "Now, Steve, _please._  Can we go home? I'm gonna be the one dying if you keep doing this to me. Just you wait and see."

 

Steve laughed hushed, nodding gently. "Please don't die, James. I need you..." he snorted, "not the easiest thing in the world, waking up a corpse."

 

"Making jokes about my dead body, for shame. I'm bein' serious Steve! I'm so damn tired it looks like you keep growing a second head."

 

Steve's eyes widened as he gasped in mock fear. "Oh no, you've figured out my deepest, darkest secret."

 

"Mm, busted," Bucky rested his cheek against Steve's shoulder. He felt Steve rubbing circles against the small of his back. "Wait, I thought your deepest, darkest secret was that in the fifth grad—"

 

"I love you Buck," he cut him off with a slap where his hand had been resting.

 

"I love you too, Stevie. A lot. A lot, a lot."

 

"Wow, you really _are_  tired," Steve teased, Bucky squeezing his side.

 

"Yeah, that's what I've been trying to tell you for the past, I don't know, forever," he straightened his posture, rubbing his eyes, hardly able to keep them open anymore. "Okay. Pack up your shit. We're leaving, no 'if', 'ands', or 'buts' about it. Uh," he gestured towards his painting, "we don't gotta take that right now, do we?"

 

"Nah. Was able to rent the place for _t_ _wo_ days this time," he held up his fingers, "Got someone coming around in the morning to pick it up. I'll probably try to get here a little earlier to, uh," Bucky followed his eyes, looking at the newly added cups to the overcrowded table, "hide the evidence."

 

"Sounds like a good plan," Bucky puffed out a weak laugh, fumbling over his own two feet as he mosied towards the door, leaning against its frame as it slowly creaked open. He held out his arm towards Steve, fingers wiggling, waiting for him to finish gathering his things. He watched as he stacked the left over containers into his book bag, slinging its strap across his chest. He grabbed Bucky's bag and slung it over his other side with a grumble. Lacing his fingers with Bucky's, he fished for his key, locking the studio before Bucky pulled him down the hall.

 

* * *

 


End file.
